


A Revolutionary Temp

by Tru_tru



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tru_tru/pseuds/Tru_tru
Summary: Grantaire smiled back. God, this was so unfair. A secretary or an accountant he could have gotten away with. No one cared if temps messed around at their own level. But the CEO? Even if, miracle of miracles this angel wasn’t straight and taken, what were the chances he’d risk a scandal banging someone like Grantaire?





	1. Chapter 1

A college professor of Grantaire’s had once told him, “The idea of selling out does not include working the jobs you can get in order to feed yourself. Don’t be an idiot and get a fucking LinkedIn page.”

It was probably the best advice he would ever get in his life, and as he straightened the tie that felt like a noose around his neck, he tried to hold the sentiment in his mind.

There was no shame in taking work as an office temp in order to pay the bills…but he hated it anyway. He hated the bros all grown up, with their chauvinistic attitudes and functional alcoholism. He hated the wilting secretaries, whose pictures of cats or the odd niece or nephew did little to save their dying light.

Mostly he hated the companies themselves. Billions of dollars spent to provide the people with a service or good they didn’t really need, another few million on commercials to tell them why they actually DID need it, and then mere thousands shelled out to the workers who wasted their lives working for them. Because what else were they supposed to do?

And what else was he supposed to do? He had to buy paint, and oil wasn’t cheap. He also needed other things, like food and heating and water.

So here he was- slightly rumpled button down, a brown tie that hid at least two different coffee stains, and three days’ worth of scruff on his face because he refused to look like he cared.

At least it was a non-profit company. After the agency manager had sent him the details he had don’t the briefest of Google searches. “The Revolution Foundation” had been written about in Forbes, HuffPost, Vox and more. Though he didn’t read the actual articles, the headlines made it sound like the foundation was really pushing the whole ‘save the planet and her children’ message. 

Whether it was the truth, Grantaire didn’t really care. He knew it would mean that the working environment would be either ritzy as hell, with lots of vegans and fair-trade coffee, or just a step above an inner-city public school.

The articles were usually praising the founder, Enjolras LeBlanc, a man who at least one article had mentioned as the new ‘Non-profit Golden Boy’. _Whatever_ , Grantaire had immediately thought, _that just means he’s better at hiding his embezzling than most._

He imagined some handsome, salt and pepper type with enough charm to make people assume he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but secretly had his mistress murdered and a threw her body off his private yacht.

But again, it didn’t really matter. He was only there for a few days; as soon as he got his paycheck he was out. 

When he stepped off the tram and walked down 7th street to the corner, eyes searching for the building number he had been told to look for. When he found it, his jaw dropped a little.

_Ritzy it is…_ he thought. Architecturally, it was a beautiful building. Sleek and sophisticated, without feeling aggressively modern. When he walked in the front door a lovely young woman with wavy blonde hair greeted him from behind the desk.

“Hi, there! How can I help you today?”

Her cheer caught him off-guard, even more than the decor- the walls and floor were a classic pristine white, but every corner was bursting with greenery. Fresh plants bloomed everywhere- for an office the air was paradoxically fresh and carried not even a hint of burned coffee or printer ink.

“Um…yes. I’m the temp?” Her smile widened. She checked a nearby sheet.

“Yes! Mr. Re…re…”

“Grantaire is fine.” He interjected. His last name was always a nightmare to pronounce. She nodded thankfully.

“Nice to meet you Grantaire. My name of Cosette. You’ll actually be on the top floor, but I can take you there!”

She led him to the elevator, walking with a bounce in her step that seemed utterly natural. If he had been even the tiniest bit straight, he could easily imagine falling under her spell. But as it was, he had no trouble focusing on her words when she next spoke.

“You’ll be replacing Feuilly- poor thing, was rushed to the hospital with a hot appendix, so the boss made him take some time off.” She turned and pressed the button for the top floor.

“Oh?”

“He didn’t want to leave Mr. LeBlanc high and dry, but some things you just can’t control, you know?”

“Right…” That prompted a thought in his head. The email from the agency had said he was working as a corporate secretary but didn’t include specifically who he’d be working for…but no way would they get some random temp for the CEO. No way anyone had that much faith in him.

“Obviously because this is so short notice, there won’t be much time to train you- but no one expects you to be perfect. Just do your best. Mr. LeBlanc can get a little huffy but he’s harmless, really.”  

“Right.” As the elevator rose his stomach began to drop. Skating by was a little more difficult when you were being yelled at by the head of the goddamned company. But there was still some hope. “So how many secretaries does Mr. LeBlanc have?”

“Well, technically just one. But he also has a personal assistant, Bahorel. I’m sure he can give you some pointers and pick up any slack.”

The doors opened to the top floor, which was only a touch less green than the entrance. It was not too crowded, a handful of men and women in fine business attire walking about.

“Kitchen and break room is over there,” Cosette pointed as they walked. “Bathrooms are back there, and here…” she came to a stop. “Is your desk.”

It was impeccably neat. There was a small photo of a black-haired cat on one side, and a little cactus on the other. Between them was a neat stack of papers, and right on top there was a bright post-it that read: “For the Temp”. Cosette saw it about the same time he did.

“Oh, wonderful! And here I didn’t think he’d have time to put something together!”

Grantaire lifted the post it to find a detailed schedule and beneath that a list of important phone numbers, a brief guide to the phone system, and passwords for all the necessary applications. This Feuilly guy had been incredibly thorough, and it made Grantaire like him immediately, if for no other reason than he had just save Grantaire’s shapely ass.

“Well, I’ll let you get settled.” Cosette flashed yet another sun-bright smile. “If there’s anything you need just call down to the front desk and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Uh…thanks.” He sat down and started scanning the pages- there were even more than he thought- but he didn’t get far. Seconds after the elevator door closed on Cosette, the door to the office of the man he was now working for burst open.

“Yes, you do that Bahorel! And while you’re at it you can tell that wretched woman that she AND her skeezing husband can rot in hell!” Grantaire couldn’t see the screamer- just a weary-looking man with broad shoulders and dark skin stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

The minute he saw Grantaire he attempted a smile, but his eyes stayed the same.

“Sorry about that. You must be the temp.” The man-Bahorel it seemed- extended a hand which Grantaire accepted. As he shook it he said, “Don’t let the caterwauling startle you. If you knew the couple he was talking about, you’d probably want to scream at them too.”

Grantaire tried to laugh.

“You want to get on his good side, uh…”

“Grantaire. And yes, I think I would.” Bahorel nodded.

“Bring him a cup of coffee in about…” He checked his watch, “Twelve minutes. I’d bet my eyeteeth that Feuilly left instructions on how he likes it.” 

“Thanks."

“Don’t sweat it. He’s a good guy Enjolras. He just takes everything so seriously- it makes him a great philanthropist, but also a bit of a bitch.” He winked and went to his own desk, and Grantaire felt a little relief bubble up in his chest. Even if the boss was a horrible dragon person, at least he had allies now.

As quick as he could he found the coffee instructions and got to work. At exactly 9:45 he stood in front of the door, mug in hand, and knocked.

“Come in.” 

What he saw next surprised him so much, it was a goddamn miracle he didn’t drop the coffee. Because it wasn’t some old political type sitting behind the desk. It was a young man- not much older than Grantaire himself- with a head of luscious blond hair and a face so beautiful his heart skipped a beat.

His eyes though…they were piercing. They lasered in on Grantaire and, finding him to be someone other than the fabled Feuilly, immediately narrowed with suspicion. But when he saw the cup of coffee, steam still rising from the top, he straightened, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Damn…even from a hospital bed he still manages to keep things on schedule.” His voice was rich and sweet, and it made Grantaire’s stomach flip. Luckily at that moment, the man stood, reminding Grantaire of the reason he was here.

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Oh, just Grantaire is fine Mr. LeBlanc.” He said as he passed over the coffee. “My last name is a bit of a mouthful.” He smiled.

“I understand. You wouldn’t believe how many different spellings of ‘Enjolras’ I get when I go to Starbucks.” He took a sip of the coffee and sighed. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

Grantaire smiled back. God, this was so unfair. A secretary or an accountant he could have gotten away with. No one cared if temps messed around at their own level. But the CEO? Even if, miracle of miracles this angel wasn’t straight and taken, what were the chances he’d risk a scandal banging someone like Grantaire?

Not that he wasn’t hot and amazing, but he was also dirt poor, anti-corporation, and probably looked like an idiot standing there gaping for- how long had it been?

“Well, let me know if there’s anything else you need.” And with that he scurried back to his desk, hoping the man hadn’t noticed the blush creeping across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

“So…enjoying the new guy?”

It was late Thursday evening and Bahorel was puttering around the office as Enjolras finished writing some thank you cards to the more generous donors.

“Hm?”

“The new guy.” Bahorel prompted. “Feuilly’s replacement.” A moment passed as Enjolras kept scribbling with his fountain pen. 

“He’s alright.” _Bullshit,_ thought Bahorel. He had been working for Enjolras for three years now; there were no secrets between them. Not that Enjolras wasn’t _trying_ to hide his crush on the new secretary, it was just that Bahorel could read his boss like an open book.

“More than alright. He’s prompt, he’s attentive…pretty cute too.”

The pen stopped cold.

“You think so?” Bahorel was glad he was standing with his face hidden in a filing cabinet, otherwise, his boss might have seen the grin that split across his face. He quickly composed himself and turned around.

“Just an observation- you know I’m off the market.”

 “Yes, you are.” The man was suspicious now, his bright green eyes narrowing on his assistant. “So why mention it at all?” 

Bahorel shrugged.

“I may have noticed you…appreciating him is all.” Here he let the smile show, so his boss knew he held no judgment.

“That’s ridiculous.” His tone was cool but Bahorel was just getting started.

“Of course.” He said nothing more, waiting for the lack of argument to get on Enjolras’ nerves.

“He’s…I mean I’m not saying he’s _un_ attractive. But it wouldn’t be appropriate." 

Bahorel didn’t reply, just nodded once.

“And I wouldn’t risk that,” Enjolras added for emphasis.

“Of course.” He let a moment of silence hang and soon Enjolras had discarded the thank you card entirely and was pacing around the office.

“I mean sure, we’ve chatted a bit. He’s an interesting person. I mean it’s not every day I get to talk with a real artist.”

“Understandable.” 

“And yes, he makes me laugh sometimes. He’s very…sardonic. He doesn’t care about corporate life or rising through the ranks, so he doesn’t kiss my ass. It’s refreshing, ok?”

“Naturally.”

“But come on, be serious Bahorel. He’s got to be what…19?”

“Um, 26 actually. We needed his ID for the W4.” 

“Really?” This stopped his pacing momentarily. Bahorel could see his brain changing the age difference from the previously assumed nine years, down to a measly two. He shook his head. “But that doesn’t change anything. He’s still my employee.”

“Temporarily.” 

“Yes but…Why are you pushing this?” They locked eyes for a moment before Bahorel threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat.

“Sir, you’re my boss, of course I can’t tell you what to do. But I also know you well enough to know how hard you are on yourself, and how long it’s been since you’ve…enjoyed yourself. At all.”

Enjolras sighed and walked back over to his desk, slumping into his chair.

“It has been quite a while hasn’t it.”

“And I wouldn’t be saying anything if I hadn’t been seeing the exact same interest coming from Grantaire himself.”

“What? Really?” Bahorel rolled his eyes- the man’s naivete would be adorable if it wasn’t such a hindrance to his social life. 

“The man _lingers_ in here every chance he can! He’s always blushing whenever you pay him a compliment, and I know you may think he’s funny, but I promise you, that humor is something he reserves solely for you.” 

Enjolras smiled in earnest now, looking as star-struck as a teenager. Bahorel seized his opportunity.

“And listen, I know you’re worried about the propriety of it all, but maybe just don’t assume anything too quickly. He’s a temp, and you said it yourself, he has no interest in a corporate career. From where I’m sitting, it seems like a perfect situation.”

With that he left Enjolras alone, confident that if nothing else has had planted a seed in the man’s mind.

_Best damn personal assistant ever._  


	3. Chapter 3

The day following their little talk, Enjolras woke up and made the decision that he was going to ignore Bahorel’s advice. He had worked hard to earn the respect of his employees and refused to let a little temptation lead him to becoming the subject of office gossip. And for what- sex? He had to think about the big picture. Sure, Grantaire was funny and gorgeous, and it was only too easy to imagine himself taking fistfuls of that luscious black hair as he…

But no. Enjolras wasn’t that kind of boss.

He walked into work that morning, totally sure of himself. He would walk past Grantaire, say a polite good morning and move on.

Except, when he got there the desk in front of his office was empty. He could see that things had been moved, and there was a half-consumed cup of coffee on the desk, so he had to be in the office somewhere.

He should have just kept walking. Gone into his office and started his day, but he couldn’t. He had to see Grantaire, so he could prove to himself that he could be around him and stay professional. It was this sort of crazy, stubborn-headed logic that necessitated hiring people like Bahorel, and even Courfeyrac. But as neither his personal assistant nor his Vice President was anywhere to be seen, the impulse got the better of him.

He dropped his suitcase on his desk and went in search of the missing temp. He got a few questioning looks from his employees as he walked through the halls, peeking into the copy room and then various conference rooms. The break room was the last place he looked, as it was farthest from his office- naturally, this was where he found Grantaire… standing over the kitchenette sink, holding his button up under the faucet. 

He didn’t look up at first, his face scrunched up in frustration. But Enjolras didn’t see that for several seconds, as he was too focused on the visual of Grantaire’s back and shoulders enveloped only in a tight white t-shirt. His skin was pale, save for the various tattoos that peaked out from the sleeves and trailed down to his wrists, and his aggressive scrubbing of the button-up made his powerful looking muscles flex deliciously.

When Enjolras cleared his throat, several long moments later, it wasn’t meant to be pointed- more a reflexive gesture his body made to remind him that he needed to breath.

Grantaire’s head snapped up.

“Oh, hello sir. Sorry about this, I spilled coffee on my shirt. I swear the stuff has a vendetta against me. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

Enjolras nodded stiffly.

“Of course. Not a problem, take your time. Just wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost two secretaries in a row.” Grantaire nodded, smiling with what must have been pity at Enjolras’ poor attempt at humor. He didn’t seem upset or uncomfortable, and Enjolras took that as a huge accomplishment. “I’ll just be in my office then.”

He turned and walked out of the breakroom as quickly as he could, but he didn’t go back to his office. He headed straight for the bathroom because he was a horrible, wretched human being who now had a semi from watching his secretary clean a shirt.

For as much of a micro-manager as Enjolras was, when it came to the particulars of office design, he hadn’t really cared that much. Things like lighting fixtures and window shades didn’t really seem important when he was trying to start a company that set out to make a real difference. Still, he made a mental note to thank whoever had been in charge of the design, because there was nothing in the world he was more grateful for at that moment than the decision some blessed angel had made to have full privacy bathroom partitions. 

As he speed-walked past the urinals and into the sanctity of a stall, he breathed a sigh of relief. Even if someone walked into the bathroom, all they would see was a line of closed doors that reached all the way to the floor and up to the ceiling. No one had to know what he was about to do.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Did he really want to be this guy? The guy who jerked off at work? True, it wasn’t like he had been watching porn on the clock or having phone sex with his mistress but still…at that moment it didn’t feel like such a distinction.

He took a deep breath and sat on the toilet seat, pants still firmly on and dick still half hard inside of them. He just needed a minute to cool off. He started to count to ten- if it worked for anger, who’s to say it couldn’t work for arousal? He got to five when he heard the restroom door open.

“Fuck!” He jolted but stayed quiet. Was that…? “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Great job Grantaire.” It was. Instinct took over, and Enjolras stayed completely still. The worst thing he could imagine was Grantaire finding out he was not alone right now. The temp stomped down the line of stalls and slammed one of them shut. Enjolras heard the click of a lock, then a deep breath.

“You stupid, stupid prick. He’s going to think you’re such an idiot now.” Several moments passed in silence, then in a louder voice he said, “Is anyone in here?”

 _This is it,_ thought Enjolras. _Say something._ But he didn’t. He was completely frozen, so instead of announcing his presence he just listened to Grantaire sigh, and then say,

“Stupid beautiful bastard…all his fault I’m…gah!”

It was here Enjolras lost the few remaining iotas of reason he still possessed, because in the stall several feet away he heard the unmistakable sounds of a zipper being undone, and pants being shoved down.

“Fuck…”

Enjolras didn’t make a sound, but as he listened to the gorgeous, albeit frustrated man jerk himself off he was helpless to stop his own cock from getting achingly hard.

Grantaire worked quickly, mumbling to himself all the while.

“God…come on…fuck…”  When he came it was with a groan so low and guttural that Enjolras had to grip his thighs and bite his lip to keep silent. He barely heard the man clean himself up and leave, his ears were pounding so hard.

 _Fuck_. He thought. _I am so screwed._


	4. Chapter 4

The day following their little talk, Enjolras woke up and made the decision that he was going to ignore Bahorel’s advice. He had worked hard to earn the respect of his employees and refused to let a little temptation lead him to becoming the subject of office gossip. And for what- sex? He had to think about the big picture. Sure, Grantaire was funny and gorgeous, and it was only too easy to imagine himself taking fistfuls of that luscious black hair as he…

But no. Enjolras wasn’t that kind of boss.

He walked into work that morning, totally sure of himself. He would walk past Grantaire, say a polite good morning and move on.

Except, when he got there the desk in front of his office was empty. He could see that things had been moved, and there was a half-consumed cup of coffee on the desk, so he had to be in the office somewhere.

He should have just kept walking. Gone into his office and started his day, but he couldn’t. He had to see Grantaire, so he could prove to himself that he could be around him and stay professional. It was this sort of crazy, stubborn-headed logic that necessitated hiring people like Bahorel, and even Courfeyrac. But as neither his personal assistant nor his Vice President was anywhere to be seen, the impulse got the better of him.

He dropped his suitcase on his desk and went in search of the missing temp. He got a few questioning looks from his employees as he walked through the halls, peeking into the copy room and then various conference rooms. The break room was the last place he looked, as it was farthest from his office- naturally, this was where he found Grantaire… standing over the kitchenette sink, holding his button up under the faucet. 

He didn’t look up at first, his face scrunched up in frustration. But Enjolras didn’t see that for several seconds, as he was too focused on the visual of Grantaire’s back and shoulders enveloped only in a tight white t-shirt. His skin was pale, save for the various tattoos that peaked out from the sleeves and trailed down to his wrists, and his aggressive scrubbing of the button-up made his powerful looking muscles flex deliciously.

When Enjolras cleared his throat, several long moments later, it wasn’t meant to be pointed- more a reflexive gesture his body made to remind him that he needed to breath.

Grantaire’s head snapped up.

“Oh, hello sir. Sorry about this, I spilled coffee on my shirt. I swear the stuff has a vendetta against me. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

Enjolras nodded stiffly.

“Of course. Not a problem, take your time. Just wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost two secretaries in a row.” Grantaire nodded, smiling with what must have been pity at Enjolras’ poor attempt at humor. He didn’t seem upset or uncomfortable, and Enjolras took that as a huge accomplishment. “I’ll just be in my office then.”

He turned and walked out of the breakroom as quickly as he could, but he didn’t go back to his office. He headed straight for the bathroom because he was a horrible, wretched human being who now had a semi from watching his secretary clean a shirt.

For as much of a micro-manager as Enjolras was, when it came to the particulars of office design, he hadn’t really cared that much. Things like lighting fixtures and window shades didn’t really seem important when he was trying to start a company that set out to make a real difference. Still, he made a mental note to thank whoever had been in charge of the design, because there was nothing in the world he was more grateful for at that moment then the decision some blessed angel had made to have full privacy bathroom partitions. 

As he speed-walked past the urinals and into the sanctity of a stall, he breathed a sigh of relief. Even if someone walked into the bathroom, all they would see was a line of closed doors that reached all the way to the floor and up to the ceiling. No one had to know what he was about to do.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Did he really want to be this guy? The guy who jerked off at work? True, it wasn’t like he had been watching porn on the clock or having phone sex with his mistress but still…at that moment it didn’t feel like such a distinction.

He took a deep breath and sat on the toilet seat, pants still firmly on and dick still half hard inside of them. He just needed a minute to cool off. He started to count to ten- if it worked for anger, who’s to say it couldn’t work for arousal? He got to five when he heard the restroom door open.

“Fuck!” He jolted but stayed quiet. Was that…? “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Great job Grantaire.” It was. Instinct took over, and Enjolras stayed completely still. The worst thing he could imagine was Grantaire finding out he was not alone right now. The temp stomped down the line of stalls and slammed one of them shut. Enjolras heard the click of a lock, then a deep breath.

“You stupid, stupid prick. He’s going to think you’re such an idiot now.” Several moments passed in silence, then in a louder voice he said, “Is anyone in here?”

_This is it,_ thought Enjolras. _Say something._ But he didn’t. He was completely frozen, so instead of announcing his presence he just listened to Grantaire sigh, and then say,

“Stupid beautiful bastard…all his fault I’m…gah!”

It was here Enjolras lost the few remaining iotas of reason he still possessed, because in the stall several feet away he heard the unmistakable sounds of a zipper being undone, and pants being shoved down.

“Fuck…”

Enjolras didn’t make a sound, but as he listened to the gorgeous, albeit frustrated man jerk himself off he was helpless to stop his own cock from getting achingly hard.

Grantaire worked quickly, mumbling to himself all the while.

“God…come on…fuck…”  When he came it was with a groan so low and guttural that Enjolras had to grip his thighs and bite his lip to keep silent. He barely heard the man clean himself up and leave, his ears were pounding so hard.

_Fuck_. He thought. _I am so screwed._

 

Enjolras left the bathroom sometime later. He didn’t check the time, but he had needed a good long while to wrestle with what he would do next. After his hard-on had passed (i.e. been forced away courtesy of as many unsavory images as his brain could muster) he sat there weighing his options.

He could speak to HR…and do what? Report himself? He could report Grantaire…but even if he wanted to, he couldn’t without revealing that he had been present.

He could tell Grantaire straight away- apologize, give him the rest of his tenure off with full pay. But that felt too much like a bribe.

What he really wanted to do was nothing.

_Well, not nothing._ A sick part of his mind whispered. _What you really want to do is drag him back in here and suck his cock yourself…maybe he’d even return the favor…_

But he slammed that thought down as quickly as it had emerged.

Finally deciding that anything was better than staying hidden in a bathroom stall all day, he made his way back to his office, his legs like jelly.

The short walk back to his office felt like miles, but when he got there Grantaire was at his desk, looking completely unruffled. When he saw Enjolras though, he looked a tad confused and glanced between him and his closed office door.

“Oh, I thought you were in your office, sir.”

“I was…” He replied. “I got called down to 31…Mr. Prouvaire had some questions about the upcoming company picnic.” Grantaire nodded- it sounded reasonable enough. He added, “I’m going to make a personal call- if anyone needs me, hold them off for a while.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, he sped back into the safety of his office. He did make a phone call- just a brief one to Bahorel, who had surprisingly taken one of his personal days for the first time in months. He answered on the first ring.

“Everything alright Mr. LeBlanc?” What a question. He opened his mouth, tempted to spill everything to the man who at times felt like a close friend, before remembering himself.

“Fine Bahorel. Just wondering- the bottle of Nolet Reserve the Secretary of Energy sent last month…is it in the office?”

“Uh…yes, sir. Bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” He hung up before Bahorel had the chance to ask what it was needed for.

Enjolras never drank on office hours. He rarely even drank at all. But he was only human, and his nerves and libido were equally fried.

He retrieved the pricy bottle of gin, which was nestled among various other rare knickknacks and delicacies that he had been given over the years. It was a relief to know they had all been kept in one place- lord knows _he_ wasn’t keeping track of them.

Unlike many other executives he had no office bar, finding them a gross luxury and utterly pointless besides, so the only cup he had was his empty coffee mug. It did the trick on short notice though, and he sighed with relief as the alcohol burned his throat and settled warmly in his stomach.

He found no solution to the situation at the bottom of the first glass.

Nor the second.

Nor the third.

But by the fourth, he had come to some definite conclusions which, while might not be actual answers, did seem pretty important nonetheless.

First, was that alcohol was lovely and he really ought to drink more often. Second, he was hopelessly infatuated with Grantaire. And third, he was utterly furious with Grantaire because, when you got right down to it, his infatuation was all the secretary’s fault anyway.

What followed these revelations was not so much a plan, but a gin inspired anger that led him to jam the button on his intercom and spit into it,

“Granterr…come…come in here please.”

 He made a wild attempt to straighten his tie, and squared his shoulders as best he could.

It was time they sorted this out.


End file.
